


Solidarity

by mag_and_mac



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst with and Angsty Ending, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Going to Hell, Here?, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Peter, Hurt Peter Parker, I deserve it, I'm Going to Hell, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Iron dad?, Ned Leeds Tries, Ned Leeds Tries So Hard, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Please Don't Kill Me, Please Kill Me, Precious Peter Parker, References to Depression, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Spider-Son?, Suicidal Thoughts, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, absolutely not., actually, fluff?, nope - Freeform, re-post
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 12:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16159280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mag_and_mac/pseuds/mag_and_mac
Summary: There was melancholy in his gaze, so subtle Ned was almost sure it didn’t exist, but its presence was loud. It screamed and rung in his ears, and filled the hallways with something thick and solemn, and Ned didn’t know what it was but it hurt and burned, and it throbbed behind his eyes as it filled his veins with cotton.If you think you've see this before, it's because you have. It's a re-post of my previous work under the same name. I read through it and edited it to add to the stylistic flow of the story. PLEASE, READ THE TAGS FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS.





	Solidarity

Ned Leeds had always been an odd kid, even in his first years of schooling.

Other kids, when asked their favorite part of school, would answer lunch or recess. Ned rather liked to learn history.

He had a friend in the first couple of years.

Eugene Thomson. They had been inseparable in the beginning, but once fourth grade hit popularity seemed too divine a concept, and Eugene decided he no longer wished to be a ‘nerd’ like Ned. He acted like his IQ dropped 20 points overnight, changed his name to ‘Flash’, and left Ned for branded clothes and a sharp tongue.

Ned eventually found a liking for lunch. A small girl with sharp brown eyes and a flowy cardigan sat across from him. Her nose was in a book, but she didn’t really seem to be reading it.

He liked to think they were friends, because she sat there the next day, the day after that, and carried on for years.

He wanted her friendship, but something stopped him.

There was an unusual tension in the air when they talked, like neither was quite sure what to do or what to say.

There was a mountain in their way, and he wasn’t quite sure they each saw it the same way. To him, at least, it was made of awkward sentences, childish insecurity, and a certain lack of communication that left both parties frustratingly lost.

At the beginning of high school another boy came to sit with them. He had large brown eyes, like Michelle’s, but they weren’t calculating and intimidating. They were bright and curious, and filled with something that must’ve been mirth.

He told them he was Peter.

He had a heart as big as his brain and he could talk for hours about everything and nothing. He had an endless supply of stupid science puns, an awful sense of style, he loved Legos, and was made of selflessness was somehow both his best and worst quality.

By the end of freshman year, all nearly all the girls had a crush on him, and he hung out with Flash on weekends.

By the end of the year Ned liked lunch.

 

It didn’t take long for Peter to see the crueler side of Flash, and he eventually left the friend group. Flash was particularly cruel to him after that.

After a couple weeks of sophomore year, something happened to Peter. He wouldn’t say anything, but he was on edge every second of every day and he held a distinct tension in his body that was somehow unique to only him. May never told him anything, Peter sure didn’t, and Ned’s mother hadn’t mentioned anything abnormal, but a week after Peter’s strange behavior, Ned went to his apartment to build a Lego death star and Ben was gone, and May was still at work, and the apartment smelled musty and slow as if nobody had lived inside it for days.

That was the first time he saw the true extent of Peter’s independence, because it was only once he saw the mail on the counter that was addressed to the friends and relatives of Ben Parker, that he saw the redness rimming Peter’s eyes and the strange combination of sluggishness and barely-concealed jerkiness that punctuated his every movement.  
There was a weird stickiness that had encased Ned’s lungs and he found that every breath burned, but he built the death star with tight lips and tried to minimize how hard his hands were trembling because it seemed Peter didn’t want help.

Over the next year, he noticed a lot of times Peter didn’t ask for any help.

By the end of that year, Peter got better at concealing his newfound strength and the bags under his eyes, and sometimes Ned would think he was okay.

Unfortunately though, Ned knew some nights his mind was against him. He refused it happened of course, but his taut smile and white-knuckled grip on his pencil gave him away. Sometimes he would scratch at his skin until it bled, and Ned would beg him to _please, just tell him what was wrong_ , but Peter would crack a small smile and insist that he was fine and that he was scratching at a bug bite.

Ned would make unnecessary pop culture references and MJ would make snarky remarks to Flash until his smile seemed a little more genuine and his laugh seemed a little less forced.

Eventually he stopped eating lunch. He said he preferred a big breakfast, and not to worry.

Eventually he was cold all the time- or that was his excuse. He only wore long-sleeved shirts, and Ned almost thought he was hiding something, but then he looked at the skeleton of a boy and suddenly it didn’t seem so implausible that he was incapable of regulating his body’s temperature.

Sometimes he wouldn’t talk. When he did his voice was quiet. Strained, as it was his first time using it, and he never quite learned how talking worked. Most of the time he didn’t raise his hand in class- a striking difference from the previous year when he had been one of the only kids who did. Teachers still called on him, of course, for they were well aware that he knew the answers, but Peter only offered one-word responses, and his voice was always brittle. Hard and unwavering, but so devastatingly delicate it burned Ned’s skin every time he heard it. 

Sometimes he couldn’t sit still and sometimes he seemed unable to do anything but. There were times Ned wondered if the bruises on his skin had to do with something other that _God, I’m so clumsy. I fell down the stairs again!_ but then he would see Peter rub at his bleary eyes, doing nothing to rid them of the dark smudges that had made a permanent home underneath them, and nearly walk into an open locker door, and he wouldn’t question the boy’s excuses.

He was silent and distanced, and Ned hates himself for saying it, but once he left it was hardly different from the months before, when Peter had distanced himself to a point where they hardly found time to talk even once a week.

_“See you tomorrow, dude!” Ned tried, holding out his fist. His cheer was a poor mask for his concern. Peter turned his head to face him, and the way his sharp cheekbones were painted a sickly yellow in the florescent lighting of the school made Ned nauseous._

_Nobody would have noticed the moment’s hesitation before Peter’s lips twisted upwards, but Ned was looking for it._

_Peter was silent for a moment while that tight caricature of a smile he liked to use briefly ghosted his lips, before he allowed a small, breathy, “Bye, Ned.” and gently tapped his fist against the other boy’s offered hand. There was melancholy in his gaze, so subtle Ned was almost sure it didn’t exist, but its presence was loud. It screamed and rung in his ears, and filled the hallways with something thick and solemn, and Ned didn’t know what it was but it hurt and burned, and it throbbed behind his eyes as it filled his veins with cotton. He couldn’t see, or breathe, and his ringing ears distracted him, and by the time he lowered his fist, Peter had gone home._

A thousand nights passed in a fleeting second, and the next day the lights were too bright, and the counselors were having mental health assemblies, and it came out in the media that Tony Stark had picked up his drinking habit again.

A small girl with sharp brown eyes and a flowy cardigan sat across from him. Her nose was in a book, but she didn’t really seem to be reading it.

There was an unusual tension in the air when they talked, like neither was quite sure what to do or what to say.

There was a mountain in their way, and he knew they both saw it the same way. It was made of science puns, Legos, unwavering selflessness, and a blanket of grief that covered the top like a sheet of snow. It barely concealed the deafening desolation that poured itself into nook and cranny between the rocks. It glistened in the harsh lighting of the silent cafeteria and Ned looked around once again. His breath hitched and got stuck between a gasp and what felt like a cough.

He didn’t like lunch.

He had always been one for history.


End file.
